Long Mixed bag Poems
Long Mixed bag Poems. Below are the most popular long Mixed bag by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mixed bag poems by poem length and keyword.
Methinks there are many of us who have given up on us.
They say that these are the last days of the USA as we have known it.
It's possible that they are right, but methinks that they are giving up too soon.
Giving up I say on America like Jonah of the Bible had given up on Nineveh.
America is a mixed bag of ideas and opinions, many of which are protected by
the US Constitution, and in my opinion, these are NOT the last days of America.
I do not know if 'it's the 7th ending stretch or the bottom of the ninth, 2 outs,
2 strikes, but I do know that the game is NOT over. Moreover, you and I are still
on deck to do our part. The aforementioned city-state of Nineveh was in God's
mind a candidate for mercy. However, in the mind of Jonah, those people were
candidates for judgment and destruction. A couple of weeks ago in my dear
city, one man beat another man to death. That was evil. Yesterday, I saw a
news clip from another city of a man being robbed and beaten to death. They
took $1. That was evil. In our Region, a man found $5000 in an envelope, and
he is seeking the owner. If he does not locate the true and rightful owner,
he will donate his find to charity. That is genuine goodness. Such goodness
can be multiplied many times. With all that I see wrong with America, I dread
to think of a world without an America.
123119PoSoupCtest,Whitman-Inspired Uplifting Poetry, C. Devonshire,3P
Upon reflection looking back
Being I as a person as you yourself are
The past is a mixed bag no matter
who you are
It wasn't all good likewise I couldn't
have been all that bad either
Especially when it comes to the bad
they more than any other probably
weren't
And the older I get and more life experience
I gain over time using golf as a metaphors
to explain in actual reality is this
If I went for a lesson and someone of
me thereafter enquirer taking the time
me to ask
What if anything of any value did you
indeed learn or were you taught from
your coach today
Well the 1 thing that stood out that
made perfect sense which I kind of
in fact already knew
Was when he instructed me to
lighten my grip as I am holding on
way to hard and I also need to relax
as I am far way to tense
And when it comes to going with the
flow and getting into the swing of things
Everything becomes so much easier and
flow's more naturally once we ourselves
accept and rather choose to follow the
path of least resistance
And acceptance as such doesn't actually
mean you have accepted the fact that
whatever has happened actually has
But rather what acceptance actually
means is until you truly actually accept
in the most literal sense
There is no possiblity you can in fact
actually move on or forward
I find it fascinating how the human mind ponders
the origin and shape of ideas
and how everyone
wanders.
I wonder why I
can’t help but think
in terms of rhythm and rhyme
when oftentimes others
prefer a more subtle approach
to how their thoughts are imperceptibly
dreamed, derived, or discovered.
They say everyone's chemistry is a mixed bag
of good and bad, sour, sweet, sad, mad and
lugubrious to laughably glad.
And I confess I don't know much
about psychology, psychiatry, or the brain
but this I know like the moon that glows:
the mind is a wondrous, thunderous thing.
So, if you're anything like me and
hope to see
the intricacies and mysteries
of the human mind,
better
take a step back
as a matter of fact, finding
answers may be lying
still,
undefined.
Cut out the bad part
Just like cancer
The perfect solution
The ultimate answer
Oh, if only I could isolate
The purest property
Maybe I’d get a handle on
My inhumanity
Weed out the bad stuff
Chaff from wheat
Make the good half
The thing complete
Oh, if only we could separate
The water from the oil
The consummate broth, the ideal brew
Before it started to boil
One drop taints the mixture –
Part and parcel of the mass
The formula is its element
One pupil is the class
I’m a mixed bag, a curate’s egg –
Take the bad with the good
It’s only in this way modern man
Can ever be understood
Cut out the bad part
Just like cancer
The seismic solution
The cosmic answer
There’s Stephen Hawking
In his old wheelchair
Who would believe all infinity
Could be rattling around in there?
Mom taught me to sew
Grandma Nora taught me to knit
My sister taught me to be cautious
And gave me freedom to throw a big fit
Dad taught me that messy is okay
And that neatness is for a cleaning freak
The trees and books taught me
Other worlds I could sit and seek
I learned how to do math from Mrs. Johnson
But promptly forgot it because I do not like math
I learned from the neighbors to keep my voice down
When I am angry and full of wrath
Cartooning is relaxing is a skill I learned from my soul self
Painting is a delight was taught to me by my granddaughter Molly
Love comes in all forms, and dogs are the best companions of all
Better than anything stuffed, toys, or a baby dolly.
I learned empathy from a spirit guide who came in my sleep
During my dreams which were extremely deep.
I learned hope from others who inspired me with their story.
In my heart Jesus told me of the dishonor in glory.
I am a mixed bag, every second learning something new.
Aware of the need to pay attention, at age seventy-two.
The birds are singing merrily.
The sun is burning off the fog.
Somewhere nearby, I hear a frog,
Oh wait, I think that might be me.
Sometimes it’s pretty hard to tell;
I’m guessing spring has now arrived.
The senses just feel less alive
With hampered hearing, stifled smell.
I know the telltale sign so well,
So I will not believe those lies.
For I can look with my own eyes:
The redbuds have begun to swell.
So I will suffer spring’s embrace.
A mixed bag, for I love these trees
Which coincide with snot-filled sneeze,
For there is beauty in this place.
----------
(form: Italian Quatrain)
In prison, and bereft of all defence,
But my Healer, graver than ever ere,
Swirls his chair round, yon of window to stare
As if to get inspired from Providence.
More of a dumb than mute, I curse my fate,
But happy he feels that it’s my left hand,
We’ll amputate it if we cannot mend,
What, what? I ask, my mouth an open gate.
We’ll start with anti-Cox, let it take long,
If you stick to treatment, you’ll sure get cured,
Soft tissue bone cancer I hope it’s not,
It looked he played a loose game of Ping Pong,
But what’s not in one’s hand ought 'tbe endured,
He vaguely kept everything to my lot.
Vague were his ways, vague as his weird know-how—
Of kind that make from mole hill huge mountain,
I ask him once again to well explain,
Here’s what he said with flourish and a bow:
There’s a graveyard of local infection,
And a cyst envelopes it like a fort,
Fight ensues, there’s settlement out-of-court,
Bur why worry it all, time to take action.
The cyst was hence removed, its stems and roots,
Biopsy tests done still gave not a clue,
But all follow up had to be gone through,
Cost and concern, me left with bitter fruits,
Does today’s tech help, hinder all the more?
A mixed bag of debates rage—needless lore.
_______________________________________
Crown of sonnets | 03.11.2012, revised July 2023|
Poet’s note: Here are sonnets VII and VIII of a sequel of ten sonnets constituting one single poem called a crown of sonnets. The last line of the preceding sonnet is repeated as the first line of the next sonnet, but not verbatim; nor is the first line of the first sonnet is repeated as the last line of the tenth as is. The sestets are either a quartet and a couplet or two sets of three-lined Terza Rima. Hurt is the place from where light enters, and it did, I realized after my long-drawn medical treatment.
Get away,
a fuel for emotion,
commotion of the Louvre
lifted from its demure, cinematic complacency;
someone plays the fool, the jester, wearing a crown
that doesn’t belong on the pumpkin’s head.
Get away;
chasing the bag of bones mutt down the street,
offering him nothing but your feet; to be gotten
is all the fleabag wants; cool water and chow.
Lies down, paw on vagrant’s thigh, licks empty hand.
A getaway we much prefer, a mountain retreat,
the pink rose and plumes of smoke at the peak,
a rustic cabin with couple-amenities, serenity,
closeness, places to go, to play, to eat, to spend.
Get away - a cataclysm, a gotcha, a zone.
A mixed bag of razors and diamond candy.
The Louvre, my love closed. A tourist trapped.
America, a breakthrough, an idea, an emancipation,
a beginning, a hard fought war, uncivil, a dream.
America, a balance, not teetering, yes - tottering
on ideals. Ideals that freed slaves and women.
America, when the world was caving in from the East
and West, with bruised and bloody knees, praying.
America, its red white and blue; its stripes and stars.
In its stitches, we recall the mess, the yesterdays.
America, the bold and brave, the steadfast, dreamers.
An experiment, a Republic with enduring life.
America, a melting pot, well-spoken, pilgrims, big shots.
Don’t we have it all…we do…best not to lose it.
America, its flag big and tall, its tiny Southern towns,
its grand ranches and endless sky; its bright cities,
its colorful canyons and mountains, windy plains,
its tumbleweed and cactuses, its Yellowstone cliffs.
America, a playground for visitors, a new world.
It’s the cowboys, Indians, the rich and poor.
A mixed bag of dreamers, trying to make their mark,
allowed more than a buck, getting their butts in gear.
It was Washington’s rejection of a King, an idea of
4 to 8 years, a balance, three cheers, a circle unbroken.
America, blessed, beautiful, sparkling with pride,
sweeping the sidewalks of time, never forgetting
but always moving into the future. Let’s not divide.
Pass on to our children love, warmth, fortitude.
America, change us? America, rearrange us?
America, keep its safety, its dream, its place?
America, let us wave, welcome and behave, be wild,
be spoiled, be a harbor and a chance, hope in God.
It seems a common point of view
that ‘diversity’ is a virtue,
is this a truth that should be sun,
or just a line we feed the young?
Is diversity excellence?
No, it’s a description of difference,
there’s no moral value in that,
nothing to make it good or bad.
I think the real problem begins
when ‘diversity is tied to skin,
skin does not determine your mind,
no value in it will you find.
But they claim it’s ‘identity,’
which seems very racist to me,
and by insisting on this lie,
folks judge by skin, not what’s inside.
Which makes us cast suspicious flares,
and burdens us with endless cares.
Did we speak wrong? Did we offend?
We’re so bound up we can’t be friends.
All these results, so damn perverse,
from a shallow reading of ‘diverse.’
I think it is a better call
to just judge the individual.
But moving past a person’s hide,
to where out cultures do abide,
is diversity good for us?
I think that’s a mixed bag because
All cultures out there aren’t the same,
some function well, some are insane.
from the former we often learn,
the later make us crash and burn.
But point that out and some get mad,
don’t want those cultures to ‘feel bad,’
then they denigrate those that work,
let the failed ideas drive things berserk.
They think failed cultures are ‘oppressed,’
and like to blame those that work best,
so that we cannot appreciate
good ideas we should assimilate.
For cultures and diversity,
it’s only virtue when we judge free.
but this ties to another thing:
Diversity of our thinking.
Our ideas and their differences,
can gives us all more tools, not less.
Unique approaches, philosophies,
can fill in where we cannot see.
New ideas to which we can appeal
to solve the challenge of the real,
but this diversity they hate,
they call it ‘fascist’ and berate
any who will not board their boat,
and sail upon the ship of ‘woke.’
The one diversity that’s fine
they curse as hateful and malign.
Yet still it’s important to us,
and should be seen as virtuous,
the diversity that should be taught
is free diversity of thought.